Stay On My Side Tonight
by tahwekilelohcin
Summary: OneShotSongFic based on Jimmy Eat World's EP of the same title. DMHG.


Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters.

A/N: I based the entire plot-line around Jimmy Eat World's "Stay On My Side Tonight" EP. So, essentially, not even the ideas are mine.

* * *

**Disintegration**

I didn't sleep at all last night. I know it seems cliché, but that's precisely what my life has become. (You wouldn't understand and I'll never expect you to.) Regardless, it was because of you I couldn't fall safely into the arms of sleep.

You're like some sort of drug I'm strung out on, I tell myself I just need that one more hit and then I'll quit -- that I'll stop needing you.

Only I can't -- won't -- have you... because of the things you've done.

So when I'm with you I try to pull away. (You don't truly understand and I don't want you to.) I find myself reading books, trying to find solace in them when the only place I've ever found it was with you.

I live in a constant state of denial. It's because of the denial that every time your fingers graze my face I'm caught entirely off guard. I always forget -- always try to forget -- that serenity can only be found within you.

Serenity. It wouldn't be my first choice in words for describing you, me, or our relationship. Somehow the combination of my unflinching personality and your incessant need to make me recoil at your actions creates this serenity though.

But maybe that's just another form of denial talking.

I'm constantly at war with myself. It's a case of "Will she? Won't she?" only the only one left in the dark about the outcome is me.

Some days I forget about the past and I try to find a future for us. It's in those moments I know that I'd rather live the rest of my entire life in regret than continuing on as we are.

We aren't who we used to be. Not to say our past selves belonged with each other either. We were never supposed to work. We never did work. But that never stopped us. It hasn't stopped us yet.

Yet.

Somehow things seemed easier back then. _Easier_. You loved me and I loved you. Of course we had to work to get to that point, you chased me and I chased you and after ages we realized we had been running in circles.

We still run in those circles... only something's changed. I can't help but wonder when we began running away from one another. Maybe I'm the only one running away.

I caught you smoking in the Hogwarts library one day ages ago. Shock doesn't even begin to cover what I experienced; seeing you, the pureblooded wizard extraordinaire taking a drag off of a muggle cigarette.

You looked up from the hard wooden chair you were sitting in as if you'd been expecting my arrival. I inched closer to the bookshelves, hoping to fade right into them, my arms clutching my Advanced Arithmancy notebook.

Even back then we knew.

You slowly exhaled and I couldn't help but running through the inflictions that were brought about upon those who smoked.

You smirked at me, hanging onto the cigarette, letting ashes fall to the beat up wooden floor.

You harshly whispered, "Addiction's a funny thing, don't you think, Granger?"

I remained silent, knowing it was the best thing to do when you were in one of your moods.

You continued on about addiction, as if you hadn't expected an answer anyway, "...Just one more. I want it. I _need _it... I **have **to have it."

I briefly wondered if you were still talking about cigarettes and managed to murmur, "You need _me_."

You took another drag and as you exhaled you warned me, "I'll burn you."

Then you dropped the cigarette to the floor, moving your left foot to stamp out the last remaining embers.

But that was then.

Tonight I find you once again in a library, waiting for me. Only this time you really had known I would come.

I always come.

You met me at the door. I immediately opened my mouth to speak. You quickly raised a finger to my lips, hushing me.

As if you knew exactly what I had planned to say you almost ridicule me when you quietly reminded, "Don't say you'll never when you might..."

I shook my head. But my resolve had been broken, and in compromise I stated, "Just another time."

You're like some incredibly dark poison. The library books in Hogwarts never spoke of them ...or of you. But there you are, completely without instructions as to how to deal with you.

There is always a debate. Why would I venture into something I know will only bring about further horrible things?

The simple brush of your fingertips against my bare forearms erases the debate: You're a poison... and tonight I'll be drinking.

Your lips meet mine after what seems an eternity. It surprises me, just as you always manage to astonish me.

My fingers are now inextricably tangled in your blonde hair. Your arms have pulled me closer than I originally had thought possible.

A single train of thought fleetingly runs through my mind: _I'd rather live my life in regret than do this_.

Only now the mantra's meaning has changed: I'd rather regret this moment the rest of my life than not experience it in full.

We're still running in our circles, whether we're simply running away or chasing is irrelevant now. Nothing matters but here and now in this moment, not even love.

An image of that old memory flashes: you as a rebellious teen smoking in the school library.

You're mind is seemingly lingering on something else because the next thing I know you're whispering in between kisses, "You need me."

Burying my head in your shoulder I mutter, "You burn me."

Your hands move across my back in circular motions and it really is as if I'm alight with flame.

I barely hear you respond, "You'll burn _me_."

I softly chastise you as I continue in hushed tones, "Try to lie better next time."

You pull me in through the entrance of the library and make a simple request, "Stay by my side tonight."

**Over**

I find you precisely where I knew I would: working in the library. You've holed yourself up in here ever since you received the news.

I'm not exactly sure what I should say to you. It seems that everything I do is a mistake. I know I have to do something though; make some sort of move. After all, your attention is still attention. I'm to the point where I could care less if it's fake or real. These days I take what I can get.

You look up when I quietly close the door behind me. Your eyes seem to bore right through me, almost as if you can see right through me -- maybe you can.

I'm not sorry for what I did. I've thought it over and I'd do it all over again, even though I know it'll always result in my losing you.

You finally acknowledge me in an even tone, "Was there something you needed?"

I know it's a façade, but it still wounds me.

My heart screams, "_All I ever needed was you_". My mind sneers, "_Of course not, you mudblood filth!_"

Neither wins out in the end and I simply find myself pulling out a chair at the table you're seated at. I stare at the wooden tabletop, it's full of nicks and gouges.

I finally chance a glance up at you and I find you've dissolved into tears. I know they're not for me, never for me... only for him.

I killed him in hopes of getting closer to you and you know it. He was in the way. My past actions destroy you a little bit more everyday.

I should've been content with what I had. It's easy to say now though, since I'm without you.

You're not over what I did, but you seem quite over me. I often find myself in your physical presence, but never in your emotional presence. You've long since detached yourself from me and I know there's no getting you back on an emotional level. There are moments when I swear I see a flash of whom you used to be before -- but they're gone sooner than they come. I can never be sure.

If I were still on speaking terms with my family they would be forever praising me. After all, I only did what I'd been raised to do, which was doing what it took to get precisely what I wanted, what I deserved.

I no longer have anyone telling me how great I am. I find it difficult to get up out of bed every single solitary day.

I had originally thought you would understand -- understand that it _had _to be done.

I plead with you in my mind: Say you understand. _Just say it like you mean it_. After all, does it matter how it really feels?

If you would just be strong you could fill this empty void within me.

You were supposed to be able to fill this void within me.

I used to crave all of your attention, now all I'm awarded with on a good day is a mere glare, a look of utmost hate from a severely wounded soul.

The past is now tainted with the present. I can no longer think back on it without being reminded that I no longer have you.

Don't you see that I would've done anything for you? Anything to have you? And I did. (Yet now I'm almost entirely without you.)

What would've been if I hadn't been so intent on this?

We'll just have to add it to the endless list of things we'll never, never know.

Between body shaking sobs you manage to choke out, "Leave. Just leave... Why won't you leave?"

But you see, I've lost far too much of you already. I'll never leave, no matter how detached you become from me and the rest of the world. If I can only have you physically, I'll take it.

**Closer**

_I remember the days when you and I were "we." Even then things weren't written in stone. Everything could change in the blink of an eye: _

I had been ordered away on a mission that was to last several months. But after awhile time didn't really seem to matter anymore. I only needed to be with you.

Everyday I got a little closer to the day I would be allowed to return to your arms. Everyday I got closer to breaking down, unable to withstand life without you. I knew I had become weak, but the realization had come far too late to save anything that was left of my former independent personality.

I would lie awake at night, wondering if you'd still love me when I could finally return to you. This mission was wearing me out. I knew when I finally came home, you simply wouldn't be enough to heal me. I'd need sunshine. I'd need rest. In my dreams we would lounge around drinking fire-whiskey diluted with water on the back porch of your house, watching the sun set and then rise again; never leaving each others presence again.

Just before I left that fateful day, you grasped my hand with yours and pulled me away from the others. Once relatively alone, you pulled me close, burying your head in my chest. I rested my head on top of yours and could smell only your peach-scented shampoo.

You suddenly pulled away from me, serious eyes meeting mine. Sadly smiling you whispered, "Remember me."

I opened my mouth to speak, but you place your forefinger over my lips and continued,

"Write my name somewhere safe."

I smiled down at you. You certainly had become one for gestures and romantics. I told you just as much and while shaking your head, you explained, "Touch and taste fades with space."

I tried to reassure you, "You'll forever be in my dreams, love."

Then, looking wise far beyond your years you whispered, "I'll never be who you'll dream."

I didn't understand the weight of your words at the time. I thought you were being a tad overdramatic. It was only a few months. We were strong. Now I know "were" was the operative word.

Everyday I try a little harder than the previous day to be strong. Everyday it's harder to do so; my resolve is weakening. _I'm _weakening without you.

None of that is to say we don't owl each other. I receive letters from you on almost a daily basis. I'm grateful for them, but I don't want to hear about a life you're living that I can't be a part of. I only hope you feel the same way.

If things continue on this way we will end up with separate lives once again. You'll have yours. I'll have mine. It won't be anyone's fault. But that won't make it easier to live that way.

That night replays through my head once again:

"Remember me," you said smiling, "write my name somewhere safe. Touch and taste fades with space. I'll never be who you dream."

Pulling out a battered copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ I open the cover and see your neat handwriting in the space which proclaims _This Book Belongs To_:

Hermione Granger.

You were right, you know. You aren't the same in my dreams as you were in reality. Yet my dreams only make me miss you even more. I'm finding myself forgetting what your hair smelled like that day. I've even forgotten if you preferred coffee or tea.

Within an instant I made up my mind. Mission or no mission I had to get back to you.

I'd go to the ends of the earth for you, you know.

Walking the almost empty London streets, I know what I have to do.

Apparation is out of the question; my whereabouts are confidential Ministry information. However, a broom will do rather nicely.

I'm going to fly all night, as fast as I can until I get to you.

When I finally arrive, there won't be much time to waste. I'm afraid we've long surpassed having pretty things to say to one another.

I simply need you.

I'm coming for you.

**Half Right**

I'm constantly bothered with people telling me what to do, telling me how to live my life.

"You shouldn't doctor yourself."

They don't understand when I do the things I do I don't see it as me harming myself. It's merely someone who looks like what I look like, giving herself something she so desperately needs. That's all. Quite simple, actually.

They don't understand my worst nightmare came true; it ripped me out at the seams. I try to tell them this. They do not -- cannot -- understand this.

"I've been ripped at the seams." That's what I say.

When I don't get what I want -- what I need -- I remember how _he _used to need me in such excess. I should've known it would end up the way it did. Malfoys were never very big on sharing.

I should've known the moment he "caught" Ron and me in an embrace. Ron and I, of course, had known it was entirely platonic. He should've understood this too. Especially after having spent months with Ron during his latest mission. Ron was a good guy, he hadn't even ratted him out when he'd abandoned his post early in order to come home to me.

They say love is blind. I think the same can be said for jealousy... and rage.

When he saw Ron's arms around me, his face had turned white as a ghost's. He had such a pale complexion, it wasn't a surprise, really.

What had been a surprise was his next reaction...

...I'd leave if I could, but I can't. Perhaps it's a case of "won't." Masochism seems to rule supreme these days.

Here I have to see him on a daily basis. I pass him in the halls or he finds me in my retreat of the library.

Whenever I see him the only thing I want to yell is "Don't you say 'hi.'"

_Don't you say 'Hi.'_

He would like me to forget the entire thing had happened.

I'll never forget.

One day while passing him in the hall, I couldn't help but let out a sob. I glanced over my shoulder, hoping he hadn't noticed. He had. He was standing, almost mid-stride, completely frozen. I slowly turned to face him just as he turned to face me. I didn't know what I had expected him to say. Perhaps "I'm sorry"?

Instead he merely sneered at me, chastising me for having "a broken sink for a face."

I swallowed back the next sob that threatened to burst out of my throat. Casting my eyes away from him and his perfect blonde hair -- away from his almost perfect body, which I knew to be marred only by that black mark.

He turned away and I heard him mutter something about my head now just taking up space.

I knew he was right.

I also knew it was time for the girl in the mirror to doctor herself up again. She doesn't cry when she's temporarily fixed herself. Self-doctoring is the only thing that gets us by these days.

And as long as she exists, he won't be half right.

He's _not _half right.

Hours slip by and soon it's half past some entirely unknowable hour. I can feel the 'medication' wearing off.

It never lasts long enough.

He finds me later in the library. I don't know whether it's hours or months later. It doesn't matter as long as the girl in the mirror is semi-stable.

But the room doesn't have any mirrors. I'm on my own this time.

My mind swims with memories:

His face is as pale as a ghost's. I know he's angry; Ron and I haven't done anything wrong

I try to pacify his visibly rising temper, "Draco, don't be like that. It's just Ron for Merlin's sake!"

I was sticking up for my friend, even though there was nothing much to defend.

Some sort of resolve seemed to have taken hold over his mind and transferred it to his face.

It was a lost fight. I knew it in that instant.

_It was a lost fight_. And in that moment I lost everything: Ron, myself, and Draco.

Seemingly disappointed with my lack of verbosity yet again, he leaves me in the library alone once again.

I retreat back to my room and help the girl in the mirror swallow her medication.

That night I dream that I'm back in the muggle world. In the dream I'm resting on a bench in a large park; trees bursting with the colors of fall. Something rings in my purse and after a fair amount of digging I pull out a cell phone. The screen identifies the caller as Ronald Weasley. Hurriedly I answer the phone, not wasting time with pleasantries:

"Ron, I've missed you so much! I knew you'd get in contact with me somehow -- Ron? I'm just so sorry. I didn't know -- there was just no way I could've known he'd do something like that. I never, never thought he'd take you away from me. I would've tried harder to keep you safe. Ron, it's not the same without you here. I'm not the same person anymore. I don't really know who I am without you. Ron, I've lost myself. You have to promise you'll come back. Will you promise?"

There is only static on the other end of the line.

I remember Ron doesn't know how to use the telephone very well.

The line goes dead.

I then know I wasn't even half right.

Nothing in my life is anywhere close to being half right. Everything is wrong.

**Drugs Or Me**

I don't know what took me so long to realize what it was you were doing to yourself. I've heard wizards just aren't as prone as muggles to use drugs to deal with their problems.

That's what I've become to you: a problem.

Sometimes I think if only you could see what I see happening to you, then you'd stop this nonsense.

In the end I never confront you about anything. Who am I to tell you how to live your life, especially after the mess I've managed to make it so far?

It wasn't as if you weren't distanced enough from me because of the things I did, but now I've lost you even further into the drugged haze you currently live in.

I wish you would listen to me. If I could only have your sober attention for a moment I would plead for you to come back to me: "Stay with me. You're the one I need."

You always made the hardest things seem easy. All I ever needed was to be in your presence for all to be right with the world.

But you're not that person anymore.

If only you could see the stranger in front of me... The stranger I overhear telling others you're done with the drugs. You promise, you swear it: "I'm done."

I can't tell you from the drugs.

Maybe If you and I were still a "we" there might be something I could do for you. You don't forget my past transgressions, however, you're never so far gone that you forget the state of your life has everything to do with the horrible things I've done.

I tell myself the girl I see in front of me truly isn't you. I know you're a strong person, but no one would be able to shine through the amount of drugs you keep in your daily regimen.

Then finally, one night, I find you slouched against a wall in the library. I always could find you there.

Clearing my throat, I make my presence known.

Unfocused eyes brush across my face in the darkened room.

A small smile plays across your lips as you state, "Oh, it's you."

I feel as if I could crumble into a thousand tiny pieces with that singular smile. It's been so long since you've even bothered to look me in the eyes.

Reality comes unceremoniously crashing down around me, however, when I realize you can't have even truly recognize me.

Tonight I've just become a face from the past that seemingly holds a positive memory or two. If even that.

I slowly move over to your wall and let myself slide down next to you.

Going for broke, I reach out and brush my fingers across your bare forearm.

You act as if you don't even feel it.

A lump is steadily rising in my throat as I managed to whisper, "How're you feeling?"

You sigh as your eyes sweep across the dim room, "I've been better."

"I know."

"Do you really?" you questioned, and then continued, "Have you heard my story?"

"Which one is that?" I heard myself asking.

"It's not very interesting." you stated, "I never was very interesting, at least that's what I always thought, though. But there was a boy who always had told me otherwise. He had the palest blonde hair. I -- I think I loved him once."

My heart was breaking -- for you, for myself.

You blink a few times, seemingly oblivious to the world around you and then suddenly continued, "You probably wouldn't know him, though. But I don't suppose that's important in the long run." You paused, lost once again in a world known only to you.

I sat beside you waiting for you to resume.

"Anyway, my story. It has the blonde boy in it. I'm in it too. We lived in a world full of wonder and magic. But there were dark times and often I feared I would lose him to the other side -- the dark side. We were fighting against it, you know. No one understood what I saw in him. They didn't see what I did: a person so desperately in need of a chance to change. And I gave him that chance -- I fell in love with him somewhere along the way. But it turned out I had been wrong. He hadn't changed. In the end... Well, it's not important, what happened in the end. It's over now."

I watched as a single tear rolled down the side of your face.

You turned to me and whispered, "I don't much feel like telling my story any longer."

I reached out to you and pulled you into my arms, your head coming to rest on my chest. I murmured, "That's fine, love. We don't have to talk tonight."

Wetness was seeping through my thin button-up shirt. None of this made any sense. You took the pills to stop yourself from feeling the pain, and yet you were here, in my arms, crying.

A muffled question rises from your lips to my ears, "You haven't changed, have you?"

I feel my own tears spilling down my face as I reply, "I tried so hard, love. I truly did. For you. All I ever needed was you. I'm -- I'm just so sorry."

Your body is shaking with sobs against mine as you say, "I swear it. I'm done."

But I still cant tell you from the drugs.


End file.
